Well, sir, that confounded elephant got his trunk in that tub of stale
beer, and he never took it out till the beer was all gone. I looked down
from the pagoda and told pa the elephant was drinking again, and had
drank a washtub of beer, but pa couldn't say anything, 'cause he was
doing the Arab sheik act, and had to look dignified, as though he was
praying to Allah.

But just then the band struck up, and we started down the main street of
Steubenville. The people began to cheer, 'cause our elephant began to
hippity-hop, and waltz sideways across the street and back again, and I
thought pa would die. In the parade one man on a horse attends to the
elephants, so the sheiks don't have anything to say, and pa remained
like a statue, and told me and the Circassian beauties to be calm, and
trust in him and Allah. This Allah business was all right when the
elephant waltzed, but when we got to the next block the beast began to
stand on his hind feet, and pa and the houris rolled to the back end of
the howdah, and were all piled in a heap, while I held on to the cloth
of gold over the elephant's head.

Pa yelled to the people on horseback to kill the elephant, and the crowd
cheered, thinking it was the best performance they ever saw in a free
street parade, and the animals in the cages behind were yapping as
though they knew what was going on. The elephant got down on all fours,
and we straightened up in the pagoda, and for a block or so the beast
only waltzed around. As we got to some sort of a public square, where
there were thousands of people, the stale beer seemed to be getting in
its work, for the elephant looked at the people, as much as to say: "Now
I will show you something not down on the bills," and, by ginger, if he
didn't raise up his hind quarters and stand on his front feet, right by
the side of a big fountain, and he reached in his trunk for a drink,